September
by drizzlequaint
Summary: House's first year back from Mayfield is filled with challenges, but also conquests as he negotiates delicate ground with Cuddy. Huddy.
1. Chapter 1

I had some ideas for this, but not the ambition to start it. I finally got around to it and will keep up with it the best I can. :)  
**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of House**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_Drip, drip, drip_. The sound of rain hitting the roof of the old stone building was surprisingly irritating. Every speck of water released from the sky pried House further away from the arms of sleep. Not that he'd slept much at all in this place. The beds were not comfortable, and the dead silence of the building made him feel like he was living in a crypt sometimes. The staff was adequate enough. They did their job without getting too involved, which was what he preferred. Nor did he prefer mingling with the other patients, most of which, in his opinion, were more screwed up than him. There were the real whack jobs, like the guy who saw killer chocolate sprinkles when he closed his eyes in response to his ridiculous obsession about his weight. Then there were the guys who needed to be in a maximum security prison, not an asylum. One such man had told House he was going to "mess him up" because of the color of his eyes. House wasn't entirely sure, but he was pretty sure a man displaying Hitler-like mannerisms was a threat to the other patients, and should not have been allowed to partake in group therapy.

_Group therapy_. Probably one of the most horrible experiences of his life. Admitting defeat, feigning compassion, and the enforcement of religion, all in one sitting.

Thus was Mayfield Psychiatric Hospital. Even the name was uninviting. He had to admit, the place had helped him. They had managed to get him to take control of his narcotic addiction, although it had taken a long four months for him to be considered "stable", mentally and physically. He didn't feel different. He could detect no changes in himself, other than that he no longer saw dead people or carried around an orange pill bottle. The pain was still there, a dull ache that was always present. He had no desire to start attending church, reading to orphaned kids, or talking with Wilson about feelings.

All he wanted to do was go back to work and start solving the puzzles no one else could solve again. He wanted to sleep in his own bed. He wanted to see his team and mess with their heads. He wanted to invite Wilson out to lunch to make him pay for it. There were of course, things he did not want to return to. People's questions and stares. Clinic duty. Paperwork. Being around Vicodin and not being allowed to consume any. The explanation he was sure Cuddy was expecting.

It wasn't his fault she'd made her way into his hallucinations. She was always around him, so it was only logical. And she was hot, so...

The excuses were lame. But the truth was fragile and dangerous at the same time, a painful combination. The one thing he had learned from his stay was to avoid pain. _Drip, drip, drip_.

---

House watched through the heavy doors as Wilson signed his release forms in the lobby. The young secretary kept pushing papers at him that needed his signature. House was buzzing with anxiety upon seeing Wilson. His friend looked exactly like he remembered him, and it was insanely comforting. He hadn't seen anyone in four months. Visitation was allowed, of course, but House had requested not to see anyone until his release. He did not want Wilson or Cuddy to see him in his dark hour. House saw the secretary hand Wilson his file. His friend smiled at the young blonde, who motioned towards the door. Wilson had to wait outside in the parking lot, and House would be escorted to the front door, in case someone tried to make a run for it. The security guard smiled at him. He was big guy, probably in his mid-twenties. The place was keen on hiring young people, apparently. He allowed House to lead the way, removing the deadbolts from the heavy door that separated the interior of the hospital from the lobby and front entrance. The patients used other doors to access the fenced outdoor grounds. The lobby lead directly to the outside world, and it was the second time House had stepped through it. He made his way to the door. The secretary smiled at him and wished him luck as he passed by. Another heavy bolted door was the only thing standing between him and everyday life. The guard unlocked it, shaking his hand and wishing him all the best before shutting the door and locking it again. House looked back at the building that had been his prison for the last four months. It looked cold, as it had on the first day.

House breathed breathed in the September air as he made his way down the steps. He'd been outside plenty of times during his stay, but being outside without being under the watchful eye of caretakers felt entirely different. Wilson was standing by his Volvo, in the empty parking lot, smiling broadly. House felt the corners of his lips twitch up, too. It really was good seeing his friend again. He reached the car and stood for a moment, before Wilson embraced him. Normally, House would have shied away from the gesture, but he let himself sink into the warm hug of his friend. Wilson smelled like the hospital and his apartment, not the cold and metallic smell of the asylum.

Wilson patted House on the shoulder as he put his things into the trunk. "What kind of torture did they put you through? I never thought you would let me hug you."

"You don't even know what kind of unspeakable horror they inflicted on me," House replied, and launched into the discussion of his stay as the two doctors made the trip back to Princeton. He told his friend about the other patients and the the general treatments he'd received, but left out the details of the suffering he had been through and ache he had felt for home.

"So, is the hospital a paragon of chaos without its wise genius?" House asked, loving how quickly his wit had returned to him.

Wilson laughed. "Of course."

"How's my team?" House inquired.

"They miss you."

"I'm sure. Who wouldn't miss a boss who has no regard for your opinion and bashes the idea of career advancement?"

"The kind of people who actually keep a job in your department. And Cuddy has refused to give them a case since they broke into a patient's home, so they're getting pretty sick of clinic-"

"They broke into someone's house?" House cut in.

"Looking for drugs. Patient refused to admit to using, they were sure she was lying because it explained everything, they broke in, alarm went off, neighbor called the police, Cuddy had to bail them out."

House laughed merrily. "I've taught them well," he said, feeling a rush of pride for the three idiots he worked with. "I would have paid to see her bailing them out."

"She wasn't too thrilled," Wilson agreed, smiling.

"How is she?" House asked seriously.

"She's fine. The hospital got a grant for a new pediatrics wing, so she's been busy with that. And she got Rachel into preschool."

"Isn't she only nine months old?" House asked.

"She wanted to make sure she got a spot," Wilson replied. They both burst out laughing.

Wilson stopped laughing, and his voice took on a serious tone. "I think she really missed you."

House looked out the window. He pictured Cuddy, sitting in her office, wearing a low cut top and pencil skirt. He tried to imagine the flicker of annoyance that flashed in her eyes when she saw him replaced with wistfulness. "Yes. I would miss someone who intentionally pisses me off and has creepy hallucinations about me, too."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

"Okay. So, did you miss her?"

The question caught House off guard. He thought about the occasional moments when their arguing temporarily disappeared and the softer side of their odd friendship was present. Sometimes he thought there may have been more to the way she looked at him, but since his hallucination about her, confirmed it was only him being lustful. Cuddy was perfectly happy without him, and she continued to give him more than he deserved by looking out for him. Still, he thought of her as a friend. A friend who he'd missed.

"Yes, I missed her screaming at me."

"I'll translate that into yes, since that was a pretty sorry comeback."

House sighed in defeat. "Good to see you again, Wilson."

"Nice to have you back."

---

House arrived to work the next day, feeling refreshed. He'd forgotten what sleeping on a decent mattress felt like. According to Wilson, no one knew he was coming in today. He'd told Cuddy and House's team that he was home, but not when he'd be back. House felt the eyes of everyone in the hospital shift to him as he walked in. The atrium was silent. _Jesus. You'd think I'd just confessed to murder,_ he thought to himself. _Everybody_ was staring at him. Doctors, nurses, interns, janitors, and people who didn't even work at the hospital. He quickly retreated to the elevator after punching in. He kept his eyes straight ahead as he made his way to the his department, letting people think what they wanted. Hell if he cared. He hadn't cared what they thought before leaving, and wasn't going to start now.

He saw Taub, Thirteen, and Foreman mulling around the differential room, probably putting off going down to the clinic. Thirteen had made coffee, and handed a cup to each of her colleagues. They weren't looking at the hall, so they didn't see House approach. He smiled involuntarily as he opened the door- he'd missed this.

The three doctors looked up and happy smiles and grins appeared on their faces as they saw their scruffy boss and relief from clinic duty. Taub and Foreman patted him on on the shoulder and Thirteen kissed his cheek.

"Daddy heard about how naughty you were while he was away," House said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He was supposed to drink decaf, but really didn't give a damn. "Better get to the clinic before Cuddy comes looking for you."

"But you're back, so we can take a case now," Thirteen pointed out.

"It's my first day back on the job. I'm not going to spend it working. Now, run along."

The three younger doctors left the room, relieved to have House back, and to see that he hadn't changed. They had been worried about what detox may have done to his ability to practice, and what affect that fact would have had on him.

House entered his office, were stacks of paper and folders had accumulated. He checked his email, and had 138 messages in his inbox. He sighed. No point in tackling that today. He could probably get Cameron to do it for him, actually. He wondered about Cameron for a moment. He knew she and Chase had gotten married while he was gone, and wondered how it was working out. The two were a good match- ethical, blond, and naïve. Their kids would have sappy personalities and great hair. He'd have to go track them down later to check in.

There was another person he had to check in with. He had mixed feelings about going down to see Cuddy. He wanted to see her and the look of surprise she would get when she saw him, but didn't want to talk about what had happened before he left. The curiosity won, and House made his way through the hospital and sea of stares to Cuddy's office. He saw her sitting at her desk through the glass windows, his hand on the doorknob. She was wearing a gray sweater and matching skirt, both clinging to her and proudly boasting the fact that she was indeed female. The afternoon sun was playing on her dark hair, and House stood still for a moment. He'd forgotten how attractive she was. He remembered the feel of her soft hands on his face as he realized the horror and seriousness of his situation, and the irony. _Yeah, she's really _just_ your boss_, he told himself.

He opened the door, and she looked up from her work as she heard the sound. The sight of him took her by surprise. He looked exactly the same, but completely different at the same time. She knew it was just the lack of drugs in his system, but there seemed to be a different light in his eyes. A smile was playing on his lips, and she found herself grinning in response. It was good to see him barging into her office again. He limped over and sat on the edge of her desk, her desk from med school that he had managed to bring out of storage and into her new office. She got up and embraced him, and expected him to slip out of her grasp or cop a feel, betting more on the latter. Instead, he hugged her back, the warm sweater soft on his fingertips and her hair soft on his cheeks. The hug really wasn't enough for either of them, but they both were too hesitant to make that fact known.

They ended the embrace, and since he was sitting, House had an eye-level view of her bosom.

"I missed you guys," he said, needing to fill the heaviness of the moment with sarcasm.

Cuddy laughed and walked back around her desk to sit down. "Still an ass," she said.

"What did you expect? The misanthropic drug addict to come back back a nice Christian boy?"

She laughed again. "No. Anyway, I'm sure you've heard about your team's mishap."

He smiled proudly and nodded.

"I'll tell Cameron to keep an eye out for interesting cases in the ER."

"No need. I'm off to harass her myself."

"Making the rounds?"

"Yep," he answered, getting up before she could ask about his time at Mayfield, or even worse, the hallucinations. "I'll see you when I need some 'risky' test approved."

"House, wait." Cuddy got up and grabbed his arm.

"Yes, boss?" House hoped his nervousness wasn't detectable.

"You're not going to tell me about it?" Her gentle gray eyes were locked on his.

"Nothing to tell," he lied.

"We don't have to talk about it now. Maybe over coffee later?"

He looked down at her. Her face was calm and composed, willing him to give into her. She wanted to know. She needed him to talk to her.

"Sure." He turned to leave.

"House." She grabbed his hand to stop him.

He turned back around.

"I missed you," she told him.

"I know," he said quietly, turning the doorknob to leave.


	2. Chapter 2

**Another chapter. Thanks to Nowhere Warm and i luv ewansmile for reviewing. :)  
Also, Yoshino in the Moonlight messaged me about a forum for fan-fiction, fanbbs dot net, and I said I'd put up a link to it. It's pretty active and interesting place to visit whether you read or write fics, or both :)**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

The tree outside Cuddy's office had begun to turn a scarlet red. She was going to wait until the leaves were at their peak before taking one home for Rachel to look at. _Get back to work_, she scolded herself. The new pediatrics wing wasn't going to manage itself. She genuinely excited about the hospital being able to accommodate children more effectively, especially now that she had Rachel. She was in charge of developing the staff and managing the budget for the project. If everything went according to plan, the new wing would be opened at the beginning of June. She picked up her pen and turned her attention back to the piece of paper she was doing estimates on, and immediately put the pen back down. She knew her mind wasn't focused on work at the moment; it was preoccupied with House. She sighed and pushed her hair away from her forehead, staring at the nicks and scratches on her desk.

Wilson had told her House was released yesterday, but didn't expect him back at work for awhile. Seeing him had certainly been unexpected. She also hadn't expected him to want to talk with her about Mayfield, but had somehow convinced herself that he would, because he would be talking with her... Cuddy hated to admit it, even to herself, but she liked the idea of him being obsessed with her. _You're obsessed with him_, she told herself, wondering where he was, and why he wasn't still in her office with her.

---

House was in the ER, looking for Cameron, so she could sort through all the paperwork on his desk for him. She no longer worked for him and didn't have to do anything he said ever again. But she did. He realized that she was no longer "Cameron", she was "Mrs. Chase". How revolting. Cameron it was. He spotted her blond ponytail peeking out from behind a half-closed curtain. He swished it open, and found her changing bedsheets. She didn't look up, figuring it was a nurse who would just tell her what she needed and leave.

"You know, about a hundred and fifty years ago, they invented this great profession called nursing," House said to her, "and they're trained to change sheets."

She jumped at the sound of his voice, and smiled broadly. She hugged him tightly, as House figured she would. He stared at a guy with a pencil in his eye instead of hugging her back.

"It's so good to see you!" she exclaimed.

"Yeah, the past four months I spent living among the gorillas was simply amazing."

She smiled. "How was it?" she asked, the smile gone.

"Great. I learned how to tie my own shoes."

Cameron gave up on inquiring about Mayfield. She'd get Wilson to tell her about it. "Since you obviously didn't come down here to talk, what do you want?"

"My fans sent me a lot of mail while I was on tour. I need you to sort it for me."

She laughed. "Funny. I'm not doing it."

"But you're good at it."

"House, you've been away for four months, and you don't have a case. Do it yourself."

"Someone got cranky after tying the knot."

"Chase is fine, thanks for asking," she said, walking towards the front desk. He followed her.

"So, is there a mini wombat roasting in the oven?" he asked her as she looked over a chart.

"What?" She looked over at the smirking House, and smiled as she realized what he meant. "No. Thankfully."

"You don't want kids?"

"Not right now, but later on, yes."

He frowned teasingly. "Better be careful, don't want to end up like Cuddy." House started walking away.

"True. It'd be complicated if you were in love with two of your coworkers," she called after him. House stopped dead in his tracks and looked back to confront her, but she was already attending to pencil eye. House stalked up to his office, sitting down and throwing away any papers that didn't look important. A stack of case files needed to be filled out, and there were empty performance reviews that he was supposed to do, but figured he could blow them off for awhile, since he'd been gone. There was a copy of a cable bill with the $10 a month for the HBO he'd orderd highlighted. Beside it, "NO" was written in red ink. He smiled to himself. It had been a good try. Cuddy must have dropped this off on his desk months ago, before he left. He called the company and ordered it again, and wrote "YES" on the bill. He set it aside. He would drop it off in Cuddy's office later.

House then went to work on his email, his index finger getting sore from pressing "delete" so many times. Most of them were Wilson's stupid forwarded emails, that he sent to all his friends. These emails were typically sappy, like a picture of a puppy and kitten cuddled up with the words "I think you're special" underneath. Some were spam that hadn't been filtered, and a few were from nosy doctors or nurses in the hospital, wondering were he was. It was pathetic how they didn't care about him until something interesting happened. House paused from his delete-spree upon hearing the doorknob open.

Cuddy was the culprit. She walked into his office, stopping in front of his desk.

"Are you actually organizing your workspace?" she asked him, obviously deflecting from what she really wanted to say.

"Yeah. Apparently being married diminishes Cameron's ability to do it for me," he retorted, looking back at the monitor.

"She's not Cameron anymore," Cuddy corrected.

"Oh, hush. You called her Cameron in your office." House was anxious to find out why she had come up to see him, and as a result, was getting frustrated. "Why are you here?" he asked curtly.

"I want to talk to you."

"You are."

Cuddy sighed, sitting in the chair in front of his desk. "You know what I mean."

House looked at her. She wasn't going to give up on this. She would either force him to tell her about his experience, or go to Wilson, and they would pity him and gossip. He thought for a minute, then stood up, ready to shatter her facade. "You want to talk, we do it on my conditions."

Cuddy stood up, too. "Not so fast. I'm not agreeing to any of your ridiculous conditions."

"How can they be ridiculous if you don't even know what they are?"

"Because I know you," she answered simply.

He moved towards her, so he could tower over her and let the effect of his height sway her willpower. "No, you don't. My conditions are as following: one, dinner's on you. Two, it's somewhere quiet. Three, you let me talk, then ask questions."

She moved towards him, smiling up at him and making it known she wasn't intimidated. "I'll make you dinner. My house is quiet. I can keep my mouth shut."

House wasn't going to back down either, staring her right in the eye. Both were very aware of the sexual tension in the room."You seem to have forgotten you are in possession of a yodeling infant."

"My nanny can watch her for a few hours."

"Fine," House said. Their faces were very close.

"Fine," Cuddy agreed, fleeing the room before she did something rash.

---

Cuddy's house smelled of roasted chicken. She was still in her sweats and House had claimed he would show up at seven. It was now 6:30, and she still needed to shower. It had taken the nanny longer than expected to pack up enough things for Rachel to do at her house. Cuddy was glad the baby liked the kind older woman. She sensed that Gloria, the nanny, was pretty lonely, and was glad she had Rachel's company. She threw the potatoes on the stove and went upstairs to shower, harboring a feeling that the child's play was over and she and House were both bringing out the big guns.

---

Across town, House was also preparing for the evening. He was cursing himself for not being more organized. He was trying to find the blue shirt that Cuddy had once said she liked, but it seemed to have vanished into the abyss of his closet. He had to leave in five minutes and hadn't managed to shave. He had come home pretty tired, and taken a nap. His neighbor's dog howling at the top of its lungs had awoken him at six, and here he was, at 6:35, needing to depart at 6:40 to make it to Cuddy's for seven. He found a shirt that looked similar to the one he'd been searching for and hastily put it on. He glimpsed hesitantly at himself in the mirror, running a hand over his jaw. He hoped Cuddy was into the rough look these days.

---

House knocked on the door promptly at 7:05. Cuddy was still upstairs, trying to decide if it was socially acceptable to serve a guest dinner with dripping wet hair. The knocking confirmed that she did not have a choice, as she still had to pull something out of her closet to wear. Was a skirt too classy? No, but she didn't have time for pantyhose. Slacks it was. She grabbed a random maroon colored top, throwing it on and rushing downstairs. She did a once over of herself in the hall mirror before answering the door. Overall, she had the appearance of a drowned cat. Wet hair, hastily applied makeup, slightly wrinkled clothes. Excellent.

She opened the door, expecting heavy criticism from House. He stepped in, looking her over, but didn't comment. _That bad?_ she thought. She didn't know what to say, so she just led him into the dining room.

"I'll be right back with the food."

"Did you make a smiley face in my mashed potatoes?"

Cuddy laughed and went to get the food, praying to God it looked better than she did. Thankfully, nothing had burned. She set it out on the table, sitting next to House, who had seated himself at the head of her table. They ate in silence. House wasn't going to describe his ordeal amid mouthfuls of chicken. It was a comfortable silence, and neither of them felt the need to scramble for something to say. They felt at ease in each other's presence. The house was quiet, an occasional car passing by on the suburban street. The refrigerator hummed from the kitchen, and the clocks throughout the house could be heard ticking. Forks and knives scraped against their plates.

House was finished first, sipping at the sparkling water Cuddy had given him. She herself was drinking a glass of wine. She knew he wasn't supposed to consume alcohol yet, and he wasn't surprised that she had planned to accommodate him. It was one of those signs that made him very aware of the fact that she cared for him. Cuddy cleared the table and placed the dishes in her dishwasher. House made himself at home on her couch, thinking about how honest he should be with her. He could give her the condensed version of his stay, like he'd given Wilson, or he could admit that the experience had been one of the hardest things he'd ever had to go through in his life. The detox had been the worse. There had been so much pain, _everywhere_. He begged them to give him something, anything, for it. He had wanted to die (more so than he usually did on a day to day basis).

Cuddy came into the room, sitting on the other end of the sofa. He looked at her. She was only wearing socks, and for some reason, his eyeballs found this insanely fascinating. He found himself thinking that even her feet were attractive. _Stop_, he commanded himself.

"Stop staring at my feet and start talking. My mouth is closed," she told him. He looked at her uncertainly, and she smiled reassuringly.

He told her what he'd told Wilson. He told her about the other patients, the group therapy, the treatments, the building, the staff, anything but details of the actual detox. She didn't need to know that. No one did. It was personal, and no one needed to hear every speck of information about the pain he had gone through. Wasn't it obvious? Everyone knew detox was painful. They could use their imaginations.

"And that's pretty much it," he told her a few minutes later, "I came, I saw, I conquered."

He looked at Cuddy, who was giving him an expectant look.

House sighed. "Sharing time is over. I wrote everything else in my journal."

"I don't care about that. I know what it was like for you."

He scoffed. "No, you don't. You couldn't."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Fine. I know how _difficult _it was for you and I am _proud_ of you for going through with it. I don't care about the details."

"Then why did you drag me out of my house in the middle of the night to be stuffed with poultry and the presumption that you wanted to hear about it?"

"It's eight o'clock. You're the one who had seconds. And I did want to talk about it, but... not only that, per se."

House's mind was running around to think of what it could possibly be that she wanted to discuss. Most likely, it was how she wanted a relationship with him. It was something he'd thought about too, and had concluded that they would both be better off if they weren't involved with each other. It was only logical. "Oh, for God's sake. Why did you drag me over here?"

"I wanted to talk about the hallucinations." She looked at House like she'd asked him something as simple as the time of day.

He was horrified. He was seldom embarrassed; he viewed everyone but the few colleagues he had as too stupid to bother caring about their opinions. Cuddy was different. She was intelligent, and intelligent people were the most prone to mock. Not only that, but he strove to impress her with his own intellect. Appearing superior made him feel that he was the dominant one in their relationship. Admitting to the lustful idiocy of his trivial hallucination was something he would not allow himself to do. He got up as quickly as he could, and started walking towards the front door. He was angry, angry at himself for believing something might have finally been happening between him and Cuddy, and angry with her for putting him in the position.

Cuddy watched him go, feeling about two feet tall. She had been secretly flattered about being the subject of his delusions, and wanted to hear the details of it. She didn't know what had possessed her to ask, or why she believed that he would tell her. They had made a step tonight- a civilized and polite interaction- and she had probably crushed every bit of progress they had made. She got up and rushed after him, not bothering with shoes. The fall air was a bit chilly, but crisp. House was in her driveway, almost to his motorcycle.

"House," she said, grabbing his arm to prevent him from departing.

"No."

"Just come back. Please."

He stared at her with definite traces of hostility.

"Let me apologize."

"You can do that out here," he snapped, shaking her off.

Cuddy sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. I was being petty," she admitted.

He stared at her, remaining silent.

"Goodnight," she said to him quietly, walking back up drive. She felt like kicking herself senseless, and planned on it once she was inside. She heard House's footsteps behind her a few seconds later, and turned around to apologize again. She found herself looking up at him. His face was softer, and she knew he wasn't as outraged with her as he had been.

She hesitantly brought the back of her hand to his cheek, silently offering her apologies again. House took the soft hand that was warm against his face, and pulled Cuddy into his arms by it. She was immensely relieved to be forgiven, and warmly wrapped her arms around his neck, smelling the distinct smell of his apartment on his shirt. It was homey and husky, inviting and demure at the same time. House brought his lips to her ear. Cuddy expected some lascivious comment; she hoped she'd changed her bedsheets recently. Instead, she received a simple "thank-you" as House's stubble tickled her cheek, enticing her, as he ended the embrace.

She watched him go, feeling she'd been cheated and gotten more than she deserved at the same time. House started his bike, harboring the same feeling of propitiation and coveting.


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's the weekly update. Hope you like it. And thanks for all the nice reviews! :D**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

The morning sunshine shone through the skylights in the hospital lobby. It was the soft kind of amber light that illuminated the landscape and air in tones of golden yellow, only visible in fall. The warm light coupled with the crisp air of early morning made for a typical autumn day; it seemed to have a positive impact on the employees of the hospital, Cuddy observed. She was waiting at the front desk for House, for two purposes. The first and primary reason was to provide him with the file for his case, and the second was to discuss the previous night. She was fairly certain something was present between the two of them, and she wasn't going to let it slip out of her grasp this time.

She smiled despite herself as she saw House making his way through the lobby. He punched in and nodded at her. She handed him the file, still smiling.

"Hydrops fetalis in a woman carrying triplets."

"This should be fun. Thanks for the present." House tucked the file under his free arm and turned towards the elevator, giving Cuddy what he hoped was a sufficient smile.

She grabbed his arm before he could take a single step, and leaned closer to him so she wouldn't be overheard. "We need to talk. About last night," she clarified, before he could comment.

"Couldn't agree more." House allowed her to drag him into her office, waving to the nosy nurses who were whispering about them. Cuddy sat at her desk, sitting anywhere else would give her less confidence. House sat on her desk, sitting anywhere else would seem odd.

"What's up, boss?" House considered sarcasm a safe wall to hide behind.

"Well, I just wanted to apologize again," she said earnestly.

"I thought I made it pretty clear that I forgave you."

Cuddy immediately blushed, much to her dismay. "And there's that."

"Me forgiving you?"

"If that's what you want to call it."

"I think that's the only name for it," he stated.

"Oh really. Is that how you accept all apologies?" she countered, raising an eyebrow.

"No one else apologizes to me," he told her honestly, and they both smiled.

Cuddy sighed, pressing herself to continue. "House, I need to know what's going on."

"So do I." He stared at her, and she found it hard to phrase what she wanted to say.

"Maybe here isn't the best place to have this conversation," Cuddy suggested.

"Oh my God, are you trying to have sex with me?"

She stared at him bewilderedly. "Uh... no."

"You are!"

"Are _you_ trying to have sex with _me_?" she countered.

"You're honestly asking me that question."

Cuddy failed to suppress her grin. "I have to get to work. We'll do this later."

"Oh, nicely phrased, _Madame_." Cuddy smirked, opening her folder for the pediatrics wing. House got up. He paused before opening the door, looking back at Cuddy. She felt his eyes on her and looked up. She smiled coyly, almost like she was sharing a secret with him. He smiled back, feeling smug, and uncharacteristically frivolous.

House made his way up to his office, smiling to himself. He opened the door, finding his team sitting around the table. Thirteen and Foreman were chatting, while Taub looked half-asleep.

"Good morning, starshine! The earth says hello!" House bellowed at him.

Taub glared at him wordlessly.

"Sleeping on the couch again?"

"No," Taub answered quickly, obviously lying.

"Well, good news. Cuddy has relinquished her oppression over humanity!" House threw the file expertly across the glass tabletop. The three doctors lunged at it, overcome with relief to be free from clinic duty. Foreman snatched up the folder, overlooking it eagerly.

"This isn't a case. There's three kids in there. There's going to be an increased need for blood," Foreman said.

"How many weeks is she at?" Thirteen asked.

"Thirty."

"She probably had fifth disease," Taub pointed out.

"The risk is minimal after twenty weeks," Thirteen said.

"Minimal," House said. "Not nonexistent. Get a antenatal sample."

House sat down at his recently organized desk (God, it felt weird) and picked up his ball, already anticipating some kind of problem with the patient. Nothing was ever solved with one diagnosis. His thoughts meandered through the past twenty-four hours, from being back at the hospital to Wilson to the changing leaves to his unpaid electricity bill to Cuddy. He smiled at the last thought. It was hard to pinpoint where they stood at the moment. They were more than friendly coworkers and less than the next step, somewhere in between. The middle ground.

Wilson walked into House's office, which he had almost come to expect at routine times.

"I called you last night about ten times. Where were you?" Wilson asked, sitting down in the chair in front of House's desk.

"I was out."

"Obviously. Doing what?"

"Having dinner."

"By yourself?"

"With a friend."

"A _friend_? If you don't want to spend time with me yet, you can just tell me," Wilson said flatly.

"Oh, stop. I was having dinner with a certain dean of medicine. No dessert though," House added thoughtfully.

"Whoa, whoa, wait. You went out with _Cuddy_?" Wilson's big brown eyes got bigger with surprise.

"Stayed in with Cuddy," he corrected.

"Who asked who?"

"She wanted to talk to me, so I gave her conditions. One was her providing dinner, so she decided to cook."

"I see. And what happened?"

"You know. I gorged myself, we kind of talked but not really since it's me we're talking about here, she got all kinkily inquisitive, I got mad, she felt guilty and apologized, I touched her, she got all hot and bothered, I left. The usual."

Wilson looked at his friend with mild shock, processing the description. "What did you talk about, exactly?"

"Crazy, outrageous sex. And the wacky shack. Mostly the wacky shack." House tossed his ball up in the air repeatedly.

"How is that 'kinkily inquisitive'?"

"She bound my hands and tried to force feed me prune pie. Do you know what prunes do to people?"

Wilson snatched the ball out of the air. "I thought you said there was no dessert?"

"Oh, you naughty chap. She started getting too personal," House said, not elaborating.

"And you stormed out and she apologized, and then..." Wilson trailed off, tossing the ball back to House.

"I already told you."

"Right. Well, fine, I don't need the details. Did you talk to her yet?"

House began throwing his ball in the air again. "Sort of. But don't worry, she's not satisfied yet." He paused for moment. "Bad choice of words."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "See you later. Good luck."

"Hey, not so fast!"

Wilson paused in the doorway, looking back at House with a quizzical expression.

"Hot date tonight? New shoes."

"I am capable of buying shoes without a purpose," Wilson argued.

"No, you aren't. Trust me."

"Bye, House."

"What's her name?" House yelled after him, smiling slightly to himself. He was kind of relieved Wilson was seeing someone again. It confirmed that Amber's death was another step behind them.

House glanced at the clock, noticing it was almost three. And it was _General Hospital_ day. He went to the cafeteria and bought a few things to munch on, before slipping discreetly into the AV closet and wheeling his preferred TV set to the morgue.

He'd only gotten fifteen minutes through the show before his phone starting ringing. The obnoxious ringtone was extremely out of place in the morgue.

"House."

Thirteen was on the other line. "No fifth disease."

"Do an ultrasound and check the placenta and for internal bleeding," House told her. He tried to get back into the program, but found his thoughts wandering to "a certain dean of medicine". He forced himself to pay attention to the ridiculous soap.

---

An hour later, House found himself having to deal with the anxious mother to be.

"One of the fetuses has severe fetal anemia. The infection isn't responding to antibiotics," Foreman was explaining to her. "The results and complications could be fatal for the other two if we don't abort it."

"No," she said, quietly but forcefully.

"If you don't know what it is, it could get better, right?" the father asked.

"There isn't enough blood getting to the fetus. If we don't abort-"

"If we don't abort, you'll have three dead kids instead of one," House cut in, speaking up for the first time.

"Schedule her for surgery," he told Foreman, leaving, as the mother burst into tears. He sat out in the courtyard, trying find a way to explain the fetal anemia. The afternoon sun felt good, and the breeze made its way through the leaves on the trees. House closed his eyes, expanding his thoughts. He felt some sit beside him on the bench, and opened his eyes to find Wilson sitting beside him.

"Why are you here?" he asked him.

"I'm on break," he said simply.

"Oh, that's right. Cuddy gives you breaks."

"Why would she give you break?"

"Because I'm special."

"You come in late and leave before everyone else."

"All part of my specialness."

"Right," Wilson said, sipping at his coffee, and handing one to House. "Two sugars and cream."

House took a sip before placing the cup on the bench beside him. "You forgot to get decaf."

"Oh, two out of three isn't bad. And like you're actually following the rules."

_Two out of three._ House grabbed his coffee and quickly got up, rushing to surgery. Thirteen was watching, looking somber.

"Tell him to stop," House commanded her.

"Why?"

"Because it's not an infection. It's RH isoimmunisation," House said, reaching for the door.

"She was tested and it came back negative," Thirteen pointed out, moving to stop him.

"They tested one fetus and assumed they were in the clear. But these aren't identical triplets, who would all have the same blood type. They're fraternal."

"Which means one of them has incompatible blood with the mother," Thirteen finished.

House barged into the room and commanded Chase to stop, explaining the diagnosis.

"You're sure?" he asked.

House gave him a look of extreme certainity, that Chase had seen many times in his career. It was the kind of expression you saw on someone who knew they were right and didn't care who believed them.

Chase put down his scalpel. "Start her on anti-D gamma globulin and get a transfusion for the sick one," he told one of the nurses.

---

The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows in Cuddy's office. She was organizing papers before she left for the night, and waiting for House to come in. He told her he would stop by before he left, and a combination of hunger, excitement, and fear had formed a knot in her stomach. The knot tightened as she saw House walking towards her office, and she looked down, pretending to be busy. The door creaked open and he sauntered in and sat down on her desk, picking at a scratch on it.

"You know, I wonder if people have any idea what happened on this desk," he mused, while Cuddy put folders back into various drawers. Her face got hot, recalling what the desk had been through.

"They don't."

"Shame. Every time some fancy moneybags walks in here and makes a donation, imagine how great it would be if he got the image of you and me-"

"Oh, fabulous idea. Free porno with every donation," she joked, and House smirked.

"I heard about your patient."

"I thought I was coming back so we could talk about you wanting to jump me."

She stared at him, flustered. "That's not what I said."

"But it's true, isn't it?" House stared back at her, his eyes glinting mischievously.

Cuddy sighed, getting up and standing in front of him. Their eyes were level that way. "I care about you," she started, hating how cliché the phrase sounded as it left her mouth. "And I am attracted to you..." House was silenced by the honesty of the words. "I need to know how you feel," Cuddy said softly.

House looked at her, not as able to convey his emotions verbally. He reached out his hand, but instead of groping her and making some crude comment, like Cuddy assumed he would, he brought his hand to her face. His thumb hesitantly stroked her cheek for a moment, exploring abandoned territory. He wanted to kiss her, but noted the open blinds on the windows, silently cursing them, and receding his hand. She smiled at him, and he smiled back, both knowing a bridge had been crossed.

"So where does that leave us?" Cuddy asked after a minute.

"Up for quickies in your office?"

She smirked. "No."

"Up for quickies other places?"

"If you get lucky and don't piss me off," she answered. "But I suppose just going out occasionally."

"Nothing official," he suggested.

"Definitely nothing official. We don't have the time."

"So where would we go?"

"Dinner? Plays?"

"Dinner yes, plays no."

"Then what?"

"When I'm not sitting at home, I spy on Wilson when he has dates. Doing anything tonight?"

"No," Cuddy said, rolling her eyes. "And I'm not interested in Wilson's personal life."

"Everyone is interested in other people's personal lives. They just don't admit it."

The optimism was evident on House's face, and Cuddy found it hard not to give in. "Fine. I will go with you to spy on Wilson, but first, you're buying me dinner tonight."

"You're just full of demands, aren't you?" House asked, smirking.

Cuddy smiled back, coquettishly. "You have no idea."


	4. Chapter 4

**Heh... this was fun chapter to write. As always, thank-you for the reviews :)  
Just so you know, I probably won't update next week, seeing as how I go back to the evil that is school -_- **

* * *

**Chapter 4**

"This is honestly what you do with your time?" Cuddy asked House. They were sitting in her car, parked across the street from the restaurant Wilson had supposedly entered an hour ago with his date. They'd been late arriving to the "scene". There had been a small mishap when they'd gone out for dinner. Somehow a meatball had landed in Cuddy's top, God knew why. She had demanded to go home and change, threatening to say there. House had provided her with his coat (he was trying to dismiss the fact that she was wearing nothing but a bra and his coat and sitting next to him) and the promise of two hours of clinic duty to get her to stay out with him. She was currently sulking in the passenger's seat, radiating a combination of annoyance and disgust.

"Yes, this is what I do. And stop pouting. Your face is going to get stuck like that," House said, turning his attention back to the restaurant.

"You hear that? That's the sound of me. _Not caring_."

House turned to address her. "You should care. This is the first time he's been out since... you know."

"I am very happy for him," Cuddy agreed, "and will be caring and supportive when he decides to tell me about it."

"What if he doesn't? What if he's seeing a man?" He turned to her with a face of mock-horror.

"I support gay rights. And stop messing with my windshield wipers!" House was sitting in the driver's seat, since it was the side of the car facing the street.

"Really? I always thought you were more conservative. I dig the liberal thing. Yes we can!"

"Shut up. Let me back over there so I can go home. This is ridiculous."

"It is not," House argued.

"It's invasive, juvenile, and boring. I'm going home."

"Well, let's make it less boring. We can play punch buggy."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "What are we, twelve?"

"Oh, I know. Let's play that game- the one where you describe someone with every letter of the alphabet," House said, and it took Cuddy a moment to realize he was being completely serious.

"Sounds so exhilarating. I'll start: ass."

"ASStounding."

"I am not doing this. Get out of my car," she said, shoving his arm. "I'll plan the outing next time."

"Fine, we'll skip to z. I've got the perfect one for you: zesty!"

She shoved him again, and looked at him with irritation, but there was disappointment underneath it. Frankly, she had expected some kind of romantic and enticing evening, and sitting in her car wasn't her idea of one. Then again, she shouldn't have expected anything in the first place. _No expectations, no disappointments, _she reminded herself.

"Fine, but I want my coat back. I'll get chilly walking that whole, long block to my motorcycle."

"You're seriously not going to make me drive home in my bra."

"Your shirt's in the backseat,"House reminded her. "Huh, that sounds naughty."

"It has sauce all over it!" She scowled at him.

"Hey, don't look at me. The was one angry _albóndiga_."

"The only angry one here is me," Cuddy informed him.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the whole point of us doing this so that we won't be pissy with each other?"

"It was, but I guess you're just not capable of not being an ass."

House shifted in the seat so he was closer to her, and began to unzip the jacket.

"This qualifies as being an ass," Cuddy huffed, looking away.

He unzipped it so her collarbone was exposed, and shyly ran his fingers along it until he reached the hollow of her throat. Cuddy stared at him wordlessly, shocked at the gentleness of his actions.

House unzipped the jacket a little more, revealing the planes of her breastbone, tracing his fingers along it as well. He finally unzipped the coat enough to reveal Cuddy's bra a little, and stopped there. He leaned towards her, looking at her with a look she'd never quite seen on his face before. It was a mixture of innocence and nervousness.

He brought his lips to her collarbone, retracing the steps he'd made with his fingers. She closed her eyes, taking in the warmth of his touch. His stubble tickled her soft skin. He finished unzipping the coat, but instead of taking it, wrapped it around her, before opening the door.

"You're going to leave, just like that?"

"I gotta get home and set my TiVo-"

"Get over here," Cuddy interjected, pulling him closer by his collar. She paused for a moment, before bringing her lips to his. She kissed him softly, investigating, and he kissed back in the same degree.

"I thought I was an ass," he reminded her as he pulled away a bit.

"Shut up," she said against his mouth, deepening the kiss. They continued the same manner, lips and hands composing a symphony that began delicately before steadily increasing in intensity. Cuddy allowed House to have his way underneath the coat, but pulled away once he went to work on her skirt.

"Dammit! Aren't we ever going to make it past second base?"

"I thought we were still on first?"

"You can recite the human genome but you don't know your bases?"

"Ha ha," she said, zipping the jacket back up. "Goodnight."

"But we haven't scored a run yet."

"Out," she ordered, shoving him gently. Cuddy opened her door and crossed around to the driver's side. House meet her in the middle. They stared at each other for a moment, the rawness of the time they'd spent together humbling them both. Cuddy looked down, suddenly shy. House gingerly tipped up her chin, and brushed her cheek with his fingertips. She smiled.

"Are you actually going to leave without spying on Wilson?"

House's impish grin was enough of an answer.

"Goodnight," she said, opening her door.

"'Night, Cuddy."

House watched her drive off, while emotions he hadn't felt in awhile were stirring. He hung around the restaurant until he spotted Wilson, with a familiar looking woman on his arm. He couldn't make her out, and at the moment, didn't care to. There weren't enough hours in a day, but there always seemed to be enough to harass his friend.

---

A week later, House was on his way to Cuddy's office. They hadn't been "out" since their attempt to reveal Wilson's dinner date. House _knew_ he'd seen her before, but couldn't recall who she was. Wilson wasn't dropping any hints either, but for once, House was too wrapped up in his own personal life to intrude in Wilson's.

Cuddy was on the phone, busy making her daily barrage of calls. She had a lot on her plate, between the normal upkeep of the hospital and the new wing, and House barging into her office more often now... _Speak of the devil_, Cuddy thought to herself. House boldly walked into her office, and she put her finger on her lip, begging him to be quiet for a minute.

"I got those handcuffs you wanted!" he yelled, rather loudly. Cuddy looked horrified, and hung up the phone.

"I hate you."

"Right back at you, sugar. Need to do a brain biopsy."

"What for?"

"To confirm encephalitis."

"Fine."

"Fine? Just fine?"

"'Fine' as in, get the hell out of my office."

"Okay," House said, starting to leave, feeling slightly rejected by Cuddy's tone.

"Wait. Sorry." House stopped, walking back to her desk.

Cuddy sighed, beckoning House to sit back down. He looked at her expectantly.

"I'm just stressed," she explained.

"Well, un-stress yourself."

"It's not that simple."

"Sure it is. I'm never stressed."

"Unlike you, I don't have a job where I can sit on my ass and make my minions do everything," she joked.

"Not my fault. Talk to my boss about it." Cuddy smirked, and House was glad to have made her smile, if only for a second. He reached across the desk to touch her, but she pulled away.

"No groping in my office," she reminded him, looking at him teasingly.

"Stop looking at me like that."

She smiled and looked back down at her paperwork. "So, I'm giving you the day off Friday."

"Why?" House examined her with extreme suspicion.

"Because one of the hospital benefactors is in a symphony orchestra, and if I don't go to his concert, he'll stop donating. You're going to accompany me."

"I'll take the day off, but not the orchestra. Ask Wilson. He'll behave better."

"You're coming. End of story."

"Take away four hours of clinic duty, and you've got a deal."

"One hour."

"Two."

"Three," they both said at the same time.

"Three it is."

---

It was the end of the day, and House was waiting for Wilson to finish writing some last minute prescriptions. It was bowling night.

"I know I've see her before, and you know it's only a matter of time before I find out. It's in your best interest to tell me," House was advising him.

"I told you, I'm not seeing anyone," Wilson said for the umpteenth time.

"I saw you with her!"

"And you didn't barge in on us?"

"I was a late for Bible study."

"I had dinner. With a friend. Not a date," the oncologist said, stating each word clearly.

"You don't have female friends," House reminded him. "You're seeing someone."

"I think you are. You haven't been meddling in my life as much. And you've been in a good mood lately."

"Stop deflecting."

"And you haven't been screwing with Cuddy. In fact, you haven't so much as mentioned her once this week."

"I've moved on."

Wilson laughed.

"Are you done yet?!" House snapped.

"Yes. I'm coming."

The two doctors walked towards the elevator together, Wilson still pressing House about Cuddy as they walked through the lobby. House gazed longingly in the direction of Cuddy's office.

"I went out with her once last week. And we're going to some schmuck's concert on Friday," he told his friend, punching out.

"House! This is great!" Wilson exclaimed, smiling.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't go spreading it around."

"Oh, come on. Who am I going to tell?"

"The dying people. Who will tell other dying people, who will tell non-dying people, who will tell non-non-dying people, like doctors."

"That made absolutely no sense."

As they walked into the parking lot, a well-dressed man stopped them.

"Dr. House?" he asked.

House pointed to Wilson, who pointed to House.

The man addressed House anyway. "Your medical license has been suspended."


	5. Chapter 5

**I've actually managed to update even with school back in session, yay! I like this chapter a lot, so hopefully you do too. :)  
Thanks for the reviews! **

* * *

**Chapter 5**

It was quite interesting how a single event could change the course of your life, House had to admit. It had been two days since the bastard in the suit had told him his license had been suspended. They'd sent him a letter with all the details: he wasn't fit to practice after attending Mayfield, he should have informed them of his situation, there were regulations he needed to follow, he needed to contact them to go about getting it back, etc. The letter was sitting on the coffee table. House had been sitting on the couch drinking obscene amounts of alcohol for the past forty-eight hours. He'd finally stopped some time last night, realizing that maybe it wasn't a good idea right after the rehab. He was now trying to sleep off the effects. He hadn't even bothered to tell Cuddy, but Wilson had. Stupid, meddling Wilson.

He remembered the conversation they'd had over the phone.

"Don't shut me out," she'd said.

"Just leave me the hell alone," he had responded. She hadn't called since. She had left one message on the machine, telling him if he wasn't working on getting his license back, she was going to have to fill his position. The hospital couldn't afford to keep him around if he wasn't doing anything, obviously.

The clock on the cable box read 9:06 AM, but the sky was too dark to have guessed. House rubbed his temples as his mind slowly started recollecting itself. Today was Friday. There was something kind of important that was supposed to happen today. Oh yeah. Concert with Cuddy. Damn. His pounding head wondered if she was still going. She was probably bringing Wilson. Wilson had always been the more respectable one anyway.

---

Dr. Wilson was sitting in his office, looking over patient files. It was a rainy Friday, and he really just wanted to get home and sleep. He hadn't slept too well the previous night. He was worried about House, but figured there was really nothing he could do to help. He'd read the letter the board had sent him. House had to get over his damn pride and talk to them. Still, he knew how not being able to practice, not being able to solve puzzles, was affecting his friend. _But it's his own fault, _he reminded himself. _No, you should help him_, another part of him argued. The oncologist sighed and decided his needed another coffee. Badly.

Just as he was about to get up, his door squeaked open. Cuddy appeared, looking even more tired than him. She had dark circles under her grayish eyes. Wilson felt troubled seeing her in such a state, knowing she was far too busy with Rachel and the hospital to deal with House's needy-yet-narcissist crap.

"Wow, you look..."

"Like hell. Yeah, I know. I own a mirror. Have you spoken with House lately?"

"Not since the night he found out. Cuddy, maybe you should-"

"Well, I think I might be able to help him get it back. I know a few people on the board. I'm going over there now." She had an exhausted smile on her face.

"Cuddy, wait," Wilson said gently, yet with authority.

"What?"

"I don't think you should."

She sighed, knowing she was in for one of Wilson's famous speeches. She flopped down dramatically into a chair. "Oh, here we go."

A small smile crept over Wilson's face. She had been spending too much time with a certain snarky doctor. It faded, however, as he proceeded to what he wanted to tell her. "You can't just go over there, offering him the coward's way out like always. Running to his aide when he can easily fix the problem himself by pushing his pride away. You're feeding his ego. You always do. He expects you to."

"So he's a coward for accepting my help?" Cuddy said defensively.

"You know that's not what I mean."

"I know," she said. She smiled a little, almost sadly. "You're right."

"We can't do everything for him for the rest of his life. Give him enough leeway and he'll have us wiping his ass for him."

"I said you were right. No need to humiliate me."

Wilson smiled and walked to the door. "You want to grab a coffee? I'm sure you could use one as much as I do."

Cuddy smiled back at her friend, getting up as well. "No, that's okay. I've got work to do."

"You still want to go over there, don't you?"

She gave him a "well, duh" look.

"Maybe you should. Not to save his ass though, but to make him do it himself. You're probably the only one he'll listen to anyway."

---

The knocking at the door was incessant. House was betting fifty-fifty that it was either Cuddy or Wilson. He listened more closely. Soft, yet rapid knocks. Cuddy. He wasn't opening the door. She would yell at him for drinking and being too stupid to get his license back. Or worse, guilt-trip him. One part of him made that argument. Another part, a slightly smaller part, yelled at him to open the door and confide in Cuddy. Unfortunately, that part was losing. Or maybe it wasn't. He heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. Cuddy was standing his doorway, wet from the rain and shivering a little from the cold.

"How-" he croaked from the couch, taking in the sight of her.

"You think you're the only one who knows where to find the spare key?"

Her eyes wandered around his apartment, traveling across the various empty bottles. It was dark. The shades were still drawn. She swallowed, concealing her horror, and turned on the light.

"Aghhh," House complained from the couch.

Cuddy ignored him and switched on more lights, and got a trash bag from the kitchen. She started picking up the bottles, not looking at him. He felt sick with guilt. Here she was, coming to help him yet again. There were definite traces of sadness in her eyes, and he felt like he might throw up.

She disposed of the bag in the kitchen, coming back into the living room, still not speaking to him.

"What are you doing?" House asked her, sitting up.

"I am preventing you from driving yourself into the poorhouse. Then, I'm going to a concert, and if you do what say, I'll consider taking your sorry self with me," she said, opening the curtains. Gray light filtered through the windows. Cuddy snatched up the letter from the board and the phone, and placed both on House's lap. He stared at her dumbly. He was used to her trying to take command, but her actually being so forceful with him was a slap in the face.

"Call. Or I'm going to have to hire someone else."

"You wouldn't. You'll never fire me," he reminded her, his typical argument when she threatened to take his job away.

"Normally, I would regretfully agree with you. But since you no longer have your medical license or any intentions of getting it back, you are no longer qualified for the position."

House placed the letter and phone beside him on the couch as he put his head between his hands. Cuddy's anti-House firewall cracked and she sat down beside him, waiting patiently for him to collect himself. He turned to look at her after a minute, then looked at the phone.

"Just get over yourself and do it," she said beseechingly, almost pleadingly. She then proceeded into the kitchen, and emptied the remaining alcohol in the apartment down the drain. She was as satisfied with her work as she could be, and left without another word. House stared after, missing her presence. It made him a little uneasy; he was so used to craving solitude. He also felt disgusted with himself. He should have called the board two days ago like Cuddy or Wilson would have done. Instead, he'd sat around in his apartment, gulping down booze like there was no tomorrow. Then, Cuddy had to come and rescue him from his own self-destruction. _Again_. It was sickening. He was acting like a needy child. He sped to the shower, wanting to wash away his loathsome actions.

---

"How long am I going to be in charge?" Foreman asked Cuddy on Monday.

"I don't know," she told him honestly, heading for the clinic. Foreman followed her.

"What's going on with him?"

"It's... personal. Don't worry about it. I know you can handle the department," she told him, trying to placate him so he'd drop the subject. He smiled and nodded, accepting the compliment.

"Have a good day," he said to her as he walked away.

"Thanks. You too," she called after him.

Cuddy made sure someone was doing House's hours in the clinic before returning to her office. She sighed, wanting to pull her hair out. She'd thought for sure that her visit to House would have made an impact on him, but she hadn't heard from him at all since Friday. Replacing him with someone else was a horrid, unnatural thought. She couldn't imagine it. He had to get his license back. Wilson said she couldn't do it for him, and he was right. It was an impasse, and more importantly, it was costing the hospital money it didn't have. She couldn't afford to give him more than a few more days of pay. Even with the grant, the new wing was draining money from all other parts of the hospital. It wasn't really an adequate amount of money. And if things didn't go according to plan, it would be her fault. As always.

Familiar footsteps made their way through her office, and Wilson seated himself on her desk.

"How are you?" he asked, running his hand absentmindedly over the smooth surface. Cuddy's eyes widened as she watched his fingers scratch at little nicks in the wood. He was completely oblivious. Those nicks weren't from being in storage for twenty years. "Is something wrong?"

Cuddy snapped out of her little world. "No. Sorry. Zoned out."

"Have you heard from him?" Wilson asked, concern evident on his face.

"No," she answered. "I haven't."

"Well, I know a couple of diagnosticians I can call if you want-"

"What?!" Cuddy exclaimed, almost shrieking.

Wilson was taken aback and looked at her carefully. "For his position."

"I know that. What I meant was, how could you suggest it?"

"Because you need to find someone... and can't afford to keep someone who is no longer a doctor around?"

"I can't replace him," Cuddy said earnestly, her eyes morose.

"You can't hold on to him forever, either," Wilson said gently, and Cuddy detected a hint of double-meaning in his words. "Give him until the end of the day to call."

The phone in Cuddy's office rang numerous times throughout the rest of the day, but the phone call she'd been hoping for hadn't arrived. She'd left a message on House's machine, telling him she needed to hear from him by the time she left if he was serious about getting his license back. Collecting her things, she walked out gloomily. The ride home seemed excessively long and dreary. By the time she'd drudged in through door, she was exhausted. After getting Rachel to sleep, she took a shower before falling into her own soft bed.

---

He sort of felt like a creeper sometimes, he admitted to himself. He was always sneaking around in the night. Like now, for instance. He slid the key into the lock, softly, not wanting to wake anyone up. He made his way through the house as quietly as possible, before stopping at the right door. It pushed opened swiftly and silently as he pushed it with his hand, and knocked. The sleeper stirred, not waking. He knocked louder, and tossed his coat on the bed. The occupant of it turned over, woken by the movement of the coat, a light sleeper.

"Mom... I can't sleep," House said Cuddy jumped a mile and a half.

"Jesus Christ, House! What the hell?!" she asked, still shaky. She reached over to turn on the lamp on the nightstand.

"Spare key," he reminded her, sitting on the foot of the bed. "Didn't want to wake up the parasite."

"How thoughtful. So what brings you to my bedroom, uninvited, at-" Cuddy paused to look at the clock, "- 12:02?"

"I still want my job," he told her boldly.

She sighed. "Please don't make this difficult. I can't pay you to do nothing, and I can't let you work without a license."

"I'll have it back in thirty to forty days-" House began, but Cuddy kept talking, assuming he was still arguing with her.

"And you can't just walk around harassing everyone either, you're just going to have to... what did you say?" Cuddy looked at him incredulously, as she realized what he'd said.

"I'll have it back soon. I have to do observation hours, then supervised practice under someone experienced. I can do it at the hospital, but I'll go somewhere else if you want."

Cuddy processed the words, feeling a smile overtake her face. "Of course you can do it at the hospital. In your department, even."

House nodded and smiled back, getting up. He was exhausted. He'd driven for two hours to go meet with the jerks who'd suspended his license personally. "Goodnight," he said.

Cuddy reached over and turned off her light, falling contentedly back into her pillow. "Goodnight."

House paused at the door. "Did you go to that concert Friday?" he asked, speaking into the dark.

"No," Cuddy said, opening her eyes.

"Why not? Fancy pants isn't going to give you the green anymore."

"I wanted to go with you," she said simply, comfortable expressing the fact in the blackness. It seemed to cushion the meaning, making it safer somehow, but more meaningful at the same time.

House felt the meaning, seeping towards him in the darkness of the room. His shoes, coat, and cane fit perfectly on the chair beside the bed. The pajamas that he'd worn for his midnight escapade felt perfect against the sheets. And Cuddy's soft warmth in his arms felt perfect as they fell asleep and fragments of his guilt dissolved.


End file.
